


Exceeding Expectations

by kenjiiatosh



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: At least there's a happy ending, Background Relationships, I'm sorry okay, Implied Relationships, M/M, Thor 2 Spoilers, cosplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenjiiatosh/pseuds/kenjiiatosh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the received prompt:</p><p>"The Amis go to the midnight premiere of some big franchise movie. Grantaire gets really into it, and insists everyone come and wears costumes. Enjolras is a little confused by it all, but because it is important to Grantaire, does research, and exceeds expectations by coming in costume."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceeding Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sigh_no_more](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigh_no_more/gifts).



The idea had originally been Courfeyrac’s, which wasn’t all that surprising. He had a tendency to control the group’s social outgoings, having dragged them all just two months prior to a live performance of Cats, not to mention the ears he had stuck on the head of each Amis. This time, however, he sits uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entirety of the meeting - an event that takes place Thursday evenings on the second floor of the Musain. The cafe is on the west side of town, relatively close to campus, extremely tolerant towards the students’ almost deafening gathering, and while Enjolras would never deny he’s vehement when speaking, a good portion of the noise comes from the rest of the group as well. Courfeyrac’s silence doesn’t go unnoticed; instead, it just had their leader mentally preparing himself for an idea that is surely going to be thrown his direction the second their meeting officially adjourns.

“Your future has all been decided!” he starts, and he claps his hands together as everyone obligingly turns their heads his way.

“Don’t beat around the bush, Courfeyrac. What is it you want us to do?” Enjolras’ voice is more deadpan than curious, but his inquiring has Courf continuing nonetheless.

“I’m demanding that all of us,” he shoots a meaningful look at their leader, his smile promising he won’t leave this unscathed, “go and see the midnight premiere of Thor 2.” He continues to smile to himself, bright and beautiful as if he’s just discovered the secret to life, and perhaps he has; Courfeyrac is nothing if not good at living, making the best out of every situation and out of everyone.

“I was expecting a bit more,” Grantaire calls from his back corner, raising his bottle in their direction with a lopsided smile sitting on his face, “but at least you aren’t slapping chains on our wrists.”

“I certainly wasn’t expecting it to be so PG-13,” Bahorel hollers back, and amongst the laughter that bursts out, Combeferre clears his throat. “Perhaps we should order tickets soon, then. Premieres get sold out rather quickly, after all.”

Jehan ends up being the one to agree first, seemingly just as excited as Courfeyrac. Bossuet nods from beside him, and the two turn to each other to discuss it, Joly joining them soon after. Enjolras watches this exchange in silence, but his attention is diverted as Grantaire stands to cross the room and properly join them, slinging an arm over Courf’s shoulders as he slides in beside him. “Who wants to just go watch characters up on screen, though? Who wants to sit there as themselves when they could be the characters from the story? Go big or go home, after all. We might as well do it all the way.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes!’ ‘round the table, and Enjolras is too distracted by thoughts of just how convincing the artist is, just how charismatic he can be when he wants to notice someone else pitching out the idea of mixing Thor and The Avengers for diversity, likely Combeferre after noticing just how many of them sit there in their not-so-small (when compared to a movie’s main cast) group. He’s still thinking when is name is called, followed by a not so subtle “What say ye, O’ fearless leader?” and then Courfeyrac is nudging him with a pleading look in his eye to go along with the voice that certainly wasn’t his own, shamelessly pouting as if the puppy dog look would really work on him.

And it _is_ hard to say no to Courfeyrac, even more so knowing Jehan agrees, and even Combeferre, but now that Grantaire has joined in? He seems excited, too, more so than he usually does as he taunts and mocks from the corner, sitting at his preferred table with no one but himself and a bottle or two. As much as the two claw at each other's throats, Enjolras has to admit he rather likes seeing him in such a state of joy, eyes a little brighter with the prospect of doing something new, of participating in something that he has half the credit for.

With a sigh he rubs the bridge of his nose, feeling far more exasperated than he should. “I suppose a meeting removed from politics would be... nice,” he agrees, because he’s managed to catch that the premiere is on the eighth, meaning it would be a Thursday that the midnight premiere takes place, and if that’s the case, then surely no work would actually get done. His friends look happy, though, and Courfeyrac doesn’t even look ashamed when he fist pumps the air with the finalization. It’s mostly smiles and jokes all around, and when Enjolras opens his eyes he chooses to focus on the approving feeling he gets from Combeferre’s timid smile rather than the brilliant warmth that radiates off of Grantaire as his laughter rings out.

“Enjolras has agreed to go, you can take off from one damn day of work,” he can hear Bahorel insist, and Feuilly’s reluctant agreement is enough to distract him, not even bothering to defend the fact that his name has just been used as an insult if it means one more friend’s happiness.

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The air outside is cold, and Enjolras pulls his red scarf tighter as he walks home, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. It’s still early october, but the leaves have already begun changing color at a rapid pace, some trees already pitifully bare. He hadn’t stayed much longer after agreeing to go, and while his friends would have been more than willing to pour over every detail of the movies, he had decided it would be better to do the research himself.

His apartment thankfully isn’t very far, a short distance with the intention of never having to catch a ride to either school or their weekly meetings. It occurs to him that he should continue working - the cause never stops, after all - but as he hangs his jacket in the closet, the idea is far less appealing than usual. Rather, he unties his boots before lacing his hair up with ribbon and brings his laptop to bed, settling for watching the first Thor and The Avengers that night, falling asleep two thirds through the latter with his cheek pressed against the keyboard.

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Enjolras continues with his studies throughout the week, taking periodic breaks from his actual schoolwork to instead read articles or blogs, to take notes on character traits and development, costume types and primary weapons. He studies Asgard and the nine realms, New York and Stark Tower, notes every location seen throughout the films. Doing things half-way isn’t a trait he carries, and when he walks into the next meeting to find the premiere to be once again the topic at hand, he knows considerably more than the previous time.

“I swear, if any of you try to take her, I won’t hesitate to rip your limbs from your torso,” Eponine snarls, still threatening as she only half jokes. Enjolras is perfectly aware that she received a set of antique knives for christmas last year, and he can’t help but laugh as she stares down everyone in the room, knowing quite well that the men would have no issues with playing a female character. In fact, it would be odder if none of them considered it. She’s smiling, though, and he’s glad that someone - most likely Grantaire or Combeferre - informed her of their plans.

“Ah, Apollo, you decided to show up!” He turns to face the unmistakable voice, noticing everyone quieting down after Grantaire’s outburst, and realizes that for the first time in three years he is the last person to be present at a meeting. Even with a cold, weighed down by coughing fits and a high fever, he had been the first to show up in order to prepare his notes and thoughts. “Tell me, what was it that kept you so late? Or would that take too much time from your precious cause, sparing a moment to actually engage with our friends.”

He ignores the first question, promptly eschewing the fact that he had overlooked the time after having decided to sit down and watch the entirety of Captain America, even though it in no way directly relates to the premiere of Thor 2. Instead, Enjolras briefly considers moving to Grantaire’s table before sitting down in his usual place, bag still slung over his shoulder. “Actually, I thought we could use this time to discuss who everyone is planning to go as, that way we don’t end up with duplicates.” And there goes Grantaire’s drink across the floor, his shocked expression hard to cover up after his spit take.

Courfeyrac’s awe is much shorter, letting out a roaring whoop before resuming the conversation, joined by a giggling Jehan as he practically sits in the taller boy’s lap. Once again Enjolras takes the backseat, a position he’s not quite used to as he listens to the playful arguments over who gets to be who, eyes flickering over to a silent Grantaire periodically. He doesn’t seem intent on speaking, instead taking stray sips of his choice of alcohol for the night and smiling at the rest of the group, until Eponine decides she’s had enough and turns to him. “Alright, enough, spill it. You’re trying to be all secretive and pass by without so much as giving us a hint as to who you plan on being, instead scoping out the room to see if anyone else wants to be them.”

The artist just shrugs, grin broadening. “I mostly went by color scheme.” That seems to quench Eponine’s thirst for answers, though, her head shaking as she laughs to herself. “I shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” and she turns back to her conversation with Jehan over who will be the prettiest girl there. Enjolras just sits there, debating over all the color schemes of all the characters he’s put to memory, and while he wants to think he has a good idea, he really can’t be certain. He doesn’t know him as well as he should, and it’s disheartening to think that he isn’t much closer to the person of his affectio- _No,_ he thinks to himself, _let’s just focus on who to be, who’s taken and who isn’t. Characters! Which characters are taken, that is._

Then Marius is speaking, finally emerging from his own, if somewhat bashful, state of silence. “I can’t go,” he announces, as if it’s some sort of really large secret. “I made plans with Cosette and her father a while ago, and if I cut them off he might-” he trails off there, but everyone knows what would have been said if he didn’t. Despite knowing that Valjean is one of the kindest people out there, Marius seems to be perpetually terrified of him. Still, Enjolras tries not to hold it against him; besides, he likes Cosette. She’s tougher than her boyfriend, and a good acquaintance. Even if he had not already been friends with Marius, he would try for her sake.

The room is filling with laughter, though, no one really taken aback that Marius would pick a date with Cosette over a movie outing, and once again his train of thought is moved elsewhere. The meeting wraps up quite nicely, too, everyone seemingly much more relaxed after two hours of socializing, and it isn’t until he’s walking home that Enjolras realizes no one has actually picked the main character of this event - Thor.

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Enjolras decides to recruit Cosette in the end, asking her for help with his costume. She eagerly accepts, delighted that he actually plans to partake in the event. It’s slow going, but they meet biweekly to work on it, and he has her promise not to tell anyone else of his plans, not even Marius - he would easily give in to the others, and he wants it to be a surprise.

Which is why, as he tries to make sure the next meeting is actually on topic, he shrugs when Joly asks if he has any plans for a costume. Bossuet interprets that as him simply not going in marvel themed attire, and Feuilly mentions that even he is dressing up, even if his is closer to normal apparel than cosplay. He ignores the comments, though, the teasing that comes whenever they decide he’s too boring for his own good. He ignores Courfeyrac’s whine of “You’re not even trying!” and Combeferre’s eye roll, continuing with his notes as planned.

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The day of the premiere, Cosette comes to his apartment to help him dress. Her plans aren’t until later that evening, and even if they aren’t so late as midnight, she knows they’ll have to wait some time in line. He dresses quickly, not wanting to keep her waiting, and adorns the simple attire first. The plain red material is more for modesty than anything, though he knows Cosette wouldn’t have cared, and are followed by mock pieces of armor as she throws what’s meant to be a tougher form of chain mail over his head. The same material is reflected on his pants, and once the basics are adorned, she begins clamping braces to his wrists.  


He stops her there to finish clasping the straps around his legs, making sure they’re tight before moving to pull on the knee high boots. They’re rough and sturdy, much heavier than any normal pair of shoes he’s ever worn before, but they come across nicely and really pull together even what little of the full costume he’s actually wearing. Cosette smiles, too, watching him more or less struggle into the gear on his own, not bothering to hide the laughter as he scowls down at his feet.

He can’t complain, though, as she helps him pull on the chest piece. It’s the largest of the gear, made with a faux leather and intricate metal work in the plates, ranging from his shoulders down to his waist. She had convinced him to make a separate belt for lower protection, rather than connecting it to the breastplate, and he can see why as he pulls it on. It’s already heavy enough, even when made with materials much lighter than actual metal would be, and it fits much nicer over top of the belt. Enjolras notes he feels much bulkier in the attire, heartier if he could be described as such; much more like the strapping young boy his father had wanted him to be, tall and strong, yet refined enough to manage a business. He snorts at the thought, and Cosette doesn’t ask.

Instead, she brings over the cape, connecting it to the chest piece by two more pieces of rounded metal work, clicking it in place. It’s a brilliant shade of red, and Enjolras is glad he picked Thor. Even if he is the main character, his color scheme is quite nice, his favorite even. It only brings up memories of Grantaire, though, and he has to shake his head to push those thoughts aside. “Thank you, Cosette, really. I wouldn’t ever have been able to do this on my own.”

She smiles sweetly at him, but her eyes deceive her innocence. “Repay me, then.” He only raises a brow with a questioning look, and she sits him down on what little space of his couch isn’t covered in books or material. “Let me braid your hair.”

It isn’t a lot to ask for, really, especially after offering all of the help that she did, so Enjolras sits still despite vocally opposing it. “Thor doesn’t have braided hair. We’ve looked at enough pictures to know that.” What he doesn’t say is that she can braid his hair any time; he’s never minded it, and it doesn’t feel like a proper trade.

“Shush,” is all she says, and he closes his eyes as she weaves the tiniest of braids into his hair.

“You would have made a wonderful Frigga.”

She laughs at that, quiet and contently, skillful fingers still moving despite it. “It’s a shame I’m not going, then,” she replies, and Enjolras wishes she would. It’s no secret that Courfeyrac and Combeferre will want to sit elsewhere, beside their respective partners, and he can’t imagine Grantaire ever tolerating him sitting by his side. Or worse, he would, and he would only make jokes throughout the entirety of the movie. Still, it’s a fond thought, and Cosette stays quiet as she watches him stare off into nowhere with a sliver of a smile on his face.

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Upon arrival, Enjolras is meant with a numerable amount of stares. People certainly give him looks, but the closer he comes to the theater, the more positive the reactions get. Several people ask for high fives or pictures, and one even inquires as to where Mjolnir is - only to be met with a somewhat detached “I must have left it at home.” Still, she leaves with a smile on her face, and Enjolras realizes he’s smiling too as he searches for his friends.

They aren’t hard to pick out, really, and Enjolras stops short to admire each of their handiwork.

Feuilly, as he said, is wearing the closest to normal apparel. Despite his ginger hair, he’s easily recognizable as Bruce Banner. Glasses are perched on the end of his nose - likely real prescription that he doesn’t want to ruin his eyes - and black slacks are met with fine shoes. He’s even buttoned up in a purple dress shirt, with a brown jacket casually thrown on top of it, hands delving into his pockets.

Bahorel, standing next to him, truly looks like a giant. He’s built perfectly for Heimdall with rich, dark skin and large muscles. His armor looks closer to bronze than gold at first glance, but with a shift and a change in lighting it’s clear what he was going for - not to mention that it looks far more realistic this way, truly bringing the character to life. Ironically, he looks much more hulking than those he stands beside, broad shoulders accented and a hefty helmet sat upon his head. Enjolras can’t help but wonder if he’ll take it off once the movie starts as he admires the sword Bahorel carries, reminded twice within the hour that he should have made a weapon, a hammer.

He smiles, though, when he moves on to Combeferre, standing there dressed as Hawkeye. The costume is far from the original comic design, but it matches that of the Avenger’s so well that it’s just as distinguishable as the rest. He’s padded up with what looks like swat gear and combat boots, but there’s a signature stripe of purple running down his chest, and a quiver of arrows hanging from his back. His glasses have even been removed in place of darker shades, and a prop bow dangles from his fingers.

It’s no surprise, either, that’s he’s talking to Eponine.

It takes a moment to remember her name, but it makes the costume design no less impressive. Her dress is of a plain gold as well, but it’s cut off at the shoulders and stops high above the knee. Her next layer is composed of a magenta fabric that collars around her neck and crosses over her stomach, rimming the outmost layer of gold that forms under her breasts and travels both upwards to her shoulders, as well as down to the pointed tip of the chest piece. She also adorns wrist braces and tall boots close to what Enjolras wears himself, though hers are joined by a silver band around her right arm, and are much more simpler than his in order to accent the complexity of the rest of her costume’s design. She makes a fine Sif, he thinks, and can see why she had her sights set on that particular character from the start.

Beside her are the warriors three, and Enjolras laughs as he recognizes them as Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. The three never seem able to be split up, and despite how well Musichetta wears her curves, she seems to have no issues with covering them up as she dresses. It’s her that goes as Volstagg, obviously not giving a damn to stereotypes, and he can’t help but admire her. The false beard bounces across her chest plate as laughter racks her body, and her maroon sleeves reflect nicely the muddy shade of green pants that she has tucked into her boots. At her side Joly stands as Fandral, hair slicked up and eyes mischievous. The green of his shirt sits squarely beneath his armor, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of a fencing sword. It’s a bit shocking to see him willing to do something so dangerous, but he always was willing to do anything to make Musichetta smile, and it’s obviously working as he pretends to fight a Bossuet dressed as Hogun. A black wig adorns his own head, pulled back in a ponytail, and his color scheme is very obviously blue as he ducks away from Joly’s half-hearted attacks, clearly unnerved by the fact that he may actually get hurt.

Jehan also decided to step out of the gender binary, Enjolras concludes, watching him bounce excitedly in a black spandex suit as he talks. Though his hair is a bit too long for the part, it’s already that fiery red, pulled into a large braid and draped over his left shoulder. He wears no other accessories, though, save for the two bands made up of bullets wrapped around his wrists, the gun holsters wrapped snugly around his legs, and the belt that hangs loose from his notably wide hips. He’s definitely the best candidate out of the group for the Black Widow, even as he moves in to hug Iron Man quite fiercely.

Which, of course, is Courfeyrac.

He would be the one to dress as the egotistical playboy millionaire, but Enjolras doesn’t have time to take note of his costume before he breaks free from Jehan’s hug and turns to find Enjolras there staring. The first thing he does is call out to him with his entire face lighting up, but it suddenly occurs to him that their fearless leader is in costume, and a quite nice one at that, which can only be dealt with one way.

Cat calling.

Enjolras ignores the whistling as he finally makes his way into the group, rolling his eyes before muttering under his breath, “You’re ridiculous.” No one seems to agrees with him, though; Joly and Bossuet even drop their fake fighting to turn to him, Musichetta calming down as Feuilly responds with, “Holy shit, you really did dress up.” It’s almost an insult that no one seemed to have faith in him, but they mean it in an endearing way, and Jehan is nice enough to tell him that his costume really suits him. He doesn’t miss Eponine handing money over to Jehan afterward, though, and it occurs to him that one voice is missing.

“Where’s Grantaire?”

There’s not really time to regret it, though, before a voice rings out from behind him, dramatic flare catching in the sound waves. “Why, did you miss me, brother?”

And sure enough, there he is. Grantaire, dressed up in fifty shades of green and walking in his general direction as Loki, his free hand spread and his arms open as if in question. It doesn’t even matter that everyone else is still standing there as he admires the cosplay, the work put into it, and everything makes a lot more sense now. A helmet is perched on his head, with horns large enough to rival Bahorel’s, and a similar staff is currently being gripped tightly by his left hand. The rest of the outfit, though, that’s the main attraction. It’s practically identical to the one featured in the original Thor, black apparel accented by green lining and light plating. The jacket sits on his shoulders well, a strap running from his right down to the left of his waist, and his metal work is done even finer than Enjolras’.

He’s impressive, to say the least.

But Enjolras can’t say that, can’t fawn over his work without doing so for the rest of them, without giving himself away, and so instead he just eyes him with a stone cold face. “It’s unwise to be in my company right now, brother,” he says easily, as if he’s been watching Thor for all his life, memorizing lines as if he were to act the part.

The rest of the group seems impressed, at least, a mumbled “I didn’t know you even _watched_ the first Thor,” before they slowly drift away to their respective conversations. It’s not quite as loud as before, but it’s enough that he can walk over to Grantaire without feeling like he’s being watched.

“You dress up nicely, Apollo - even if you did chose the main character.” His smile looks smug, taunting, yet his eyes are fond as he speaks.

“Are you forgetting you chose the main villain?” It’s true there were other alien races, but Enjolras doesn’t say that as he watches Grantaire’s face light up, his head thrown back as he laughs.

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Enjolras hadn’t been expecting Jehan to start an impromptu larping session in the limited space available, but he watches in amusement even so. What startles him even more, though, is when Grantaire uses this to make small talk with him, and he can’t help but feel relaxed in his presence, even if considerably nervous all at once. They fight often, too often, and left to their own devices could end less than well. When Combeferre comes as his saving grace, passing out the tickets they had ordered in bunch, he takes it with a thanks, and before their conversation can be picked back up again, they’re being shuffled inside. There’s too many hollars of excitement filling the air to get a word back to the artist, and the young revolutionary uses that as his excuse.

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Enjolras chooses to sit in the end seat of the row, because it’s likely they’ll take up at least one in it’s entirety, and he doesn’t want to force more than a single person to sit next to him. that doesn’t prove to be an issue, though, as Grantaire slips into the seat beside him without question, leaning over him to place his helmet carefully in the isle. No words are exchanged between them during the previews, and once the movie starts, the entire theater falls into silence.

That is, until Thor appears on screen shirtless, and Jehan’s ringing whistle is echoed by Courfeyrac’s too loud shout of, “Hey!” The uniform in the theater’s shushing is impressive to say the least, despite the fact that many other’s seemed to have the same thing on their mind, and Enjolras just groans as Grantaire’s body beside him shakes from silent laughter.

The next interruption comes later on in the movie, though it’s less of one for anyone else besides Enjolras. He feels nothing as Thor is getting beaten into the ground, makes no real connection with the movie. It’s suspenseful, yes, but sitting there dressed as Thor makes it no more emotional than it would have been, even as he’s about to be beaten to death. Then there’s a sword shoved through a chest, and Enjolras can’t look away as Loki appears on screen only long enough to have the same sword shoved through his ribcage. He can’t help the tears that brim the edge of his eyes, he can’t help the deep frown that’s settled on his face, and as Loki says his last words before dying, he can’t but to reach over and take Grantaire’s hand, reassuring himself that he’s both still there and alive.

Grantaire doesn’t say a word, just tightens his grip on Enjolras’ hand.

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When the movie ends, everyone claps, cheers filling the theater. Enjolras smiles at it, his hand still sitting firmly in Grantaire’s, speaking words for him that he never could. Even after Loki is revealed to be alive, he holds on, and when Grantaire makes no move to change that, he decides this was one of Courfeyrac’s best ideas. Now the credits are rolling, and they wait in the dark for the extra clips, glancing at each other and holding on tighter.

When the lights finally return and bodies seem to rise as if they’ve been summoned, the first thing they hear is Bahorel’s groan of “fucking finally.” He’s looking their way, and once again Enjolras rolls his eyes as they resort to more cat calling, Jehan whistling and Combeferre giving them a knowing smile. Grantaire seems happy, though, really happy, and he makes a note to actually discuss this later. For now, Grantaire’s in a good mood, and he doesn’t want to accidentally spoil it by confessing he thought the artist hated him for years.

“Do you want to come to my place, then? I made the mistake of skipping dinner to dress, and I’m not sure I trust your cooking, even if you are a god.”

And as they stand to exit the theater, the acoustics of the large room echoing Enjolras’ laugh, he just nods in agreement, his smile the most vibrant Grantaire has ever seen it.


End file.
